Celebrated poet and writer Maya Angelou grew up in Stamps, Arkansas, with her brother and grandmother. At the age of 13 she came to live with her mother in San Francisco and five years later gave birth to a son.

Now 81 years old, Dr. Angelou has “family” all over the world. They gather every Thanksgiving at her North Carolina home – about 300 people from Africa, Europe, Asia and all over the U.S.

In her latest book, Letter to My Daughter, she takes women everywhere under her wing – with a candid and heart moving compilation of poetry, wisdom and stories of her life that illuminate her own path to living well.

In a recent telephone interview, we asked her about her inspiration for the book and her insights on family.

PH: Why did you write to your “daughter?”
MA: I am a woman, and I am sympathetic to women, so I have a lot of daughters, really. At 81, I’ve been through some things. I think I owe it to younger women to say, “Listen, I’ve been here, and I’ve seen this, and this is how I dealt with it or didn’t” – so that a younger woman might find a suggestion to lighten her own burden or to straighten her own path. That’s why I wrote this book.

PH: You share all types of life experiences in the book – good and bad. Is there value in telling stories uncensored?
MA: I don’t want to censor. I do want to be tactful. I want to tell the truth, but to tell it so well and so eloquently that it’s not brutal. Brutal is foolish. As old black people say, “Tell the truth, and shame the devil.” Tell the truth, and maybe somebody can say, “Oh, my goodness, that helps me.” While I don’t censor, I am careful with my choices.

PH: What is family to you?
MA: I think of a statement from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Polonias says to his son Laërte as he’s about to go off, those friends thou hast and their adoption tried buckle them to thy soul with hoops of steel. That’s family to me.

The person who when I was down didn’t try to push me down further, but really tried to pull me up. The person who saw that I was lost, didn’t ignore me, but tried to bring me back, to bring me to some security. The person who sees me wrong and doesn’t just ignore me and allow me to become a joke, but has enough courage to say Ms. Angelou, you know your facts are not right here and I’ll show you this. That’s the person that I would like to call cousin, brother and sister.

I don’t feel that way just about African American people. I have sisters of all races.

PH: Tell us a little about your own mother.
MA: My mother was very funny and very tough, the most toughminded person I ever met, and she thought I was the bee’s knees. She was small – 5 feet 4 ½ inches – and I’m 6 feet tall. She used to sit down, pat her lap and say, “Come on baby!” So, I’d sit there with one leg, maybe two, over her lap, and she would stroke my leg and talk to me.

I received an invitation to come to the University of Exeter in England as a distinguished visiting professor when she was very sick. I said no. My mother, who was staying with me at the time suffering from lung cancer and emphysema, whispered to me: “Go! Show them how you spell your name W-O-M-A-N. Go! I’ll be here when you get back.” I went, really, really hesitating. I came home only to find she was in the hospital.

She had called my housekeepers. (These are two women, one about 6 feet 3 inches and another about 6 feet tall.) She called them to her bed and said, “There’s been too much dying in my baby’s house. Call for an ambulance.” They were crying when the paramedics came through the dining room carrying my mother on a gurney, and she said, ”Put me down.” And she turned to these two women and said, “My daughter is the kindest, most generous woman in the world, and she’s the best cook in the world, and she’s a piss poor housekeeper, so don’t leave her.”

That describes my mother. I did get back before she died.

PH: How does your family help keep you healthy and happy?
MA: My grandson called me this morning to say, “Grandma, I don’t know if I told you this lately, but I love you, okay? Bye!”

I have this Japanese sister friend who makes a wonderful pound cake, and she knew I’d been feeling kind of low. She made me a cake and came and left it with my housekeeper. She didn’t even ask to see me, just left it – so that’s it really.

Family is concern about one, but it’s not obsession. I think when a person is obsessed, she or he wants to control. True family says, “I see what you are doing, and I think it is brilliant.” Or, “I see what you’re doing, and I don’t think it’s so smart – but I’m with you.”

Family is courage to love. People “like,” and people “have desires for,” but courage is an incredible emotion. It’s not sentimentality. It’s not mush. It may be that element that keeps the stars in the sky.

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